


a slight misunderstanding

by orphan_account



Series: Trans!BBC Sherlock Universe [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, First Meetings, Other, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock is a little bit of a dick, Slight Transphobia, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!John, Transgender John Watson, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John Watson had, and always will have been, a man.He might not’ve looked it for a while, but he was.





	a slight misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> There is dialogue from the show here, but it is in no way 100% accurate. Slight transphobia from Sherlock and Mike, no spoilers but it should be mild enough not to be an issue, but just in case.

 John Watson had, and always will have been, a man.

 He might not’ve looked it for a while, but he was.

 There was a time when his round cheeks and dark eyes were framed by locks of curly golden hair, the kind that girls envied to have had naturally. There was a time when his height was something the boys loved, paired with his natural curves and small shoulders, it made him look weak. And when he realised, finally, that the reason he didn’t feel right was because his body wasn’t right, he vowed never to be weak again.

 So, he enlisted, went through med school, and changed his name to John Hamish Watson. Then came hormones and then finally top surgery. 

 Then he was sent home on account of his injuries and his world collapsed.

 Everyone he had served with respected him and never thought less of him because of his parts. He knew that the majority of others would not. He was utterly terrified to return home to London, until Mike Stamford showed up and offered him a flatmate.

 And now, limping his way down the halls, he prayed to every god he could think of that this man wouldn’t be the first transphobic person he’d encounter. 

 “Bit different than it was in my day,” he chuckled, looking around the lab as Mike led him inside. Seated in front of a microscope sat a pale, dark-haired man. “Mike, can I borrow your phone?” He inquired, voice deep enough to make a small twinge of envy shoot up John’s spine. “Oh, yeah, sure,” the man muttered in reply, patting at his pockets before cursing. “I left it in my other coat-”

 “You can use mine,” John interjected. Best to make a good first impression. The unnamed man held out his hand and John passed it over, his long-calloused fingers brushing the smooth, pale palm. Green-gray eyes lingered over the exchange before he went to work doing. . Whatever he wanted John’s phone for.

 “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 John’s brow furrowed and he shifted slightly, subconsciously preparing himself for a fight. “Afghanistan. How did you-”

 “Your tanline. No tan above the neck or wrists; you’ve been abroad but not sunbathing.”

 “How could you have possibly known all that?”

 “I don’t know, Jeanette, I observe.”

 John flinched harshly, so much in fact that he almost fell backwards. “My name’s-”

 “Your grandmother’s, I presume, or great aunt’s. Just your aunt, maybe, maybe your mother named you after her in memoriam. Blonde hair, blue eyes, I would’ve pegged you for a Jessica. I suppose you’re more of the tomboyish type, then, considering your clothes and the sway of your shoulders. But you don’t want people to view you as such, considering your haircut and accesories.”

 Mike and John were both standing with their faces blank with shock, John’s body rushing with anxiety and dysphoria. The faint scars of his top surgery phantomly ached, and his packer felt rough against his inner thighs.

 “I’m-”

 ”-A younger sister, I presume, with an older brother. Harry Watson. Your brother recently left his wife, most likely because she couldn’t handle his drinking, and since you possibly have been looked down upon your whole life (in his shadow, I presume) you didn’t want to ask him for help with a flat. So, I play the violin when I’m thinking and don’t speak for hours on end.”

 “Well, hold on a damn minute!” John suddenly cried. The rambling man suddenly quieted, looking up from his microscope. Mike suddenly seemed to come back to himself at John’s outburst, his face red with anger.

 “Firstly, my name is  _ John  _ Watson, thank you very much. It would do you well to respect that. Secondly, I am a  _ man.  _ That might be hard for your tiny, daft brain to understand, but boo-fucking-hoo. Thirdly, all of what you just said was almost spot-bloody-on, aside from the fact that Harry is short for Harriet, and I was named after my mother. Because she died in childbirth.”

 His face hadn’t changed, he hadn’t moved at all until John had said his sister’s name and he snapped, flailing in defeat. “There’s always  _ something_!” He growled, ruffling his hair before swiftly standing. He towered over John, making him shift and take a step back. “I meant no disrespect to you or your person, John,” he said, “I simply observed. I assure you, no one but me could make such an accurate observation.”

 Mike seemed to have finally found his voice once more. “Wait, so you’re-” He began, but didn’t have a chance to finish as John decked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The unknown man’s face split into a grin at the sight, and he began putting on his coat and scarf.

 “So, Dr. Watson, I suppose we’ll be discussing rent soon,” he continued on, walking towards the door. “Hold on a minute,” John protested, limping toward him. “We’ve only just met and you’re asking me to get a flat with you? I don’t even know your name or where I am to be meeting you!”

 The dark haired man’s head popped back into the door, eyes wide and brimming with excitement.

 “The name’s Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

 With a wink and a click of the tongue, he was gone, leaving John bewildered and Mike groaning on the floor, cupping his sore cheek.


End file.
